B2 | Chapter 43 - Freya

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B2 | Chapter 43 - Freya

Freya POV

Cute.

That's what she'd thought when Theodore said he'd make her stop holding back.

She'd laughed at the notion back then, after all, why wouldn't she?

She was a Rank 4, late Rank 4, she just needed a push and she'd be Rank 5 in a year or two.

Cocky little thing, wasn't he? She couldn't help from grinning.

Standing there with that determined look on his face like he actually believed he could push her to her limits, it was cute. Like he had any idea what her limits even were.

She'd seen that look before, on the faces of dozens of challengers who thought they understood what they were up against.

They never did.

So she'd been pleasantly surprised when he not only was able to withstand her and fight her on equal footing—even if she was limited to Rank 2—he was pushing her toward Rank 3.

That hadn't been part of the plan.

Hell, that hadn't even been a possibility in her mind.

But there she was, feeling that familiar itch.

That urge to reach deeper, to pull from reserves she'd promised herself she wouldn't touch. At least not against him, especially not when she'd given her word.

The interesting thing, though, was that he had somehow made her fire go away. Granted, her hair fire was just for show, a side effect of having her Body Familiar, but her and that'd made her stop breathing as well.

The fire on her hair was "normal" fire so it wasn't surprising that he'd easily snuffed it out.

She was pretty sure, however, that she could brute force her way through this hurdle and easily use fire anyway.

For now that was unnecessary.

Regardless, this bastard… He'd sucked out the air, so she was on a time limit now.

She still needed to breathe after all, so she needed to finish this quickly.

She had to admit, this was smart. Sneaky, even. Force her into a corner where patience wasn't an option. Where her natural instinct to outlast and overwhelm would work against her.

She had to give him credit for that.

Most fighters tried to match her strength for strength, flame for flame. This one was playing a different game entirely.

Interestingly enough, his attacks weren't exactly fire, were they?

She'd thought they were at first given how the heat  moved, the familiar orange-red glow that reminded her of her own flames.

But looking closer, feeling them impact against her defenses, there was something different about them.

So concentrated. So... dense. Like he'd taken the essence of fire and compressed it into something else entirely. Something that burned hotter, moved faster, hit harder than regular flames had any right to.

It was fire, but fire perfected.

Fire distilled down to its most dangerous elements.

Or was it the most purest elements?

Her Body Familiar was loving the hell out of it regardless.

She could feel it stirring inside her, that familiar presence that usually lay dormant unless she was in serious danger.

But now, it was practically purring with satisfaction, absorbing every fiery attack he threw at her and demanding more. Like a starving animal finally presented with a feast.

More, it seemed to whisper. More of that. Give us more of that.

Which was surprising, to say the least. Body Familiars, as far as she knew, weren't really "sentient" or "sapient" or anything of the sort.

They were essentially braindead.

All they were was an amalgamation of instincts that took over when the host was in danger. Survival mechanisms given form, nothing more complex than a reflex.

So it was surprising to see it hungering after something. Actually wanting, rather than just reacting. There was an awareness there that shouldn't exist, a consciousness that went beyond simple instinct.

What the hell was in those flames of his that could wake up something that was supposed to be little more than magical muscle memory?

It was definitely fiery in nature, but it was somehow far more as well.

She found herself almost disappointed when his fire attacks stopped coming, it seemed he'd realized she was just absorbing them.

Her Body Familiar seemed to deflate slightly and that eager hunger fading back to its usual dormant state. Like a cat that had been playing with the most interesting toy only to have it taken away.

Why did her Body Familiar recognize it as something worth craving?

Interesting.

That's when she thought she'd attack him, press the advantage while she still had breath in her lungs. But that's where he surprised her again, as thunderclaps rang out and ice javelins homed in on her. 

They followed her like they had minds of their own, actively tracking her movements unlike the typical caster attacks that were just throw and forget kind of deal.

She dodged, twisted in the air, used every bit of agility her Rank 2 limitation would allow. But they followed, persistent little things, and hit her center mass.

It didn't hurt her, at least not visibly. Her skin could take far worse than that. But it did send a jolt of pain through her stomach.

It was sharp and unexpected. Like being punched by someone who knew exactly where to hit to make it count.

Her skin remained intact, of course.

It would take a lot more than that to break through her defenses.

But the message was clear: he could hurt her if he wanted to.

Before she could formulate a plan, he was on her again with more similar attacks. He was relentless, he was methodical and it was almost as if he was trying to study her, learn her patterns, and anticipate her responses.

So that's it, is it? That's your strategy? To put me on a timer and not let me be on the offensive? 

She could attack him, of course. Could break through his defenses and end this in seconds if she wanted to. But she humored him, thinking: just how long will you last? You'll run out of mana, you're just a Rank 2 after all.

That was the thing about lower ranks.

They burned bright and fast, like kindling thrown on a fire. They could be quite spectacular for a moment, then nothing but ash and exhaustion would remain behind after burning bright.

She'd seen it a thousand times.

The eager young challenger who came out swinging with everything they had, only to find themselves empty and gasping within minutes.

But she was surprised again, when he, in fact, didn't "run out" of mana.

His mana seemed to be practically endless. So much so she was astonished.

That was NOT the amount of mana a Rank 2 should have!

Something wasn't adding up here.

She'd been fighting for what, twenty minutes now? Thirty? Any normal Rank 2 would be gasping for breath, their reserves depleted, their spells growing weaker and more erratic as they scraped the bottom of their mana pool.

But Theodore looked like he could keep this up for hours.

What the hell was he? Some kind of freak of nature? A prodigy hiding his true capabilities? Or was there something else going on here, something she wasn't seeing?

She'd fought Rank 2s before.

Hell, she'd been a Rank 2 once, what felt like a lifetime ago.

She knew their limitations, their boundaries, the way their power would flicker and fade after sustained use. This wasn't that. This was something else entirely.

She activated [Mana Sight], letting that familiar tingle spread across her vision as the world shifted into patterns of energy and flow.

Normally, when she looked at someone during a prolonged fight, she'd see the telltale signs of depletion. Mana reserves shrinking, the natural glow around their core growing dimmer, the desperate way their body tried to regenerate what had been spent.

What she saw instead made her breath catch.

He was like a force of his own, sucking mana from his surroundings. Constantly. Not just the passive absorption that everyone did—the slow, natural process of drawing ambient energy back into one's core.

This was far more aggressive.

It was like he was a walking vortex, pulling mana from the very air around him and converting it into usable energy faster than he could spend it. It was like he tore control of the mana from the environment and made it submit.

The streams of mana flowing into him were visible even through her enhanced sight, threads of blue and silver light spiraling inward from every direction.

From the ground beneath his feet, from the air above his head, from the walls of whatever space they were fighting in. All of it drawn toward him like he was some kind of magical magnet.

How was that even possible?

That level of environmental absorption required incredible control, not to mention the kind of mana channels that could handle that much throughput without burning out.

She'd seen masters struggle with techniques far less demanding than what he was apparently doing without conscious effort.

And he was doing it while fighting.

While casting spells, while dodging her attacks, while maintaining the kind of focus that should have made such delicate energy work impossible. Like breathing and blinking and walking all at once—so natural he didn't even have to think about it.

No wonder his reserves seemed endless.

It was elegant, terrifying, and absolutely not something a Rank 2 should be capable of.

But this all just made her even more excited. Her blood was singing that familiar thrill of a real challenge coursing through her veins.

No, she mustn't use full power!

The competitive spirit inside her had ignited, she would not go back on her words!

She would defeat him while holding back! She owed him that much respect!

After all, how long had it been since someone had genuinely surprised her?

How long since she'd felt that flutter of uncertainty, that delicious moment of not knowing what would happen next?

Back in the north, the barbarian tribes each had a champion.

Big and brutal fighters who relied on raw strength and savage instinct. She'd faced them all, one by one, accepting their challenges and putting them down with varying degrees of effort. No one had bested her yet.

They'd all been a disappointment, in the end.

They were all predictable, boring, and they all used the same tactics, the same weaknesses, the same inevitable defeat when they realized brute force wasn't enough.

But Theodore… he was a surprise after surprise.

If she had to put it into words, he moved much like water, flowing around her attacks, redirecting her force instead of meeting it head-on.

His spells came not in overwhelming waves but in precise, calculated strikes designed to exploit weaknesses she didn't know she had, because he was the one creating them by pushing her around.

And that mana—that impossible, inexhaustible mana!

What kind of monster was she dealing with here?

What kind of training, what kind of natural gifts, what kind of skills, techniques could produce this level of sustained output from someone supposedly two full ranks below her?

It was beautiful, in a way. It was like watching a master craftsman at work, or a predator stalking its prey.

There was an artistry to it that she had to admire, even as it frustrated the hell out of her.

She could end this right now if she wanted to. Reach deep, pull from her true reserves, and show him what a late Rank 4 could really do.

The temptation was there, growing stronger with each passing moment, each successful dodge, each spell that somehow found its mark despite her best efforts.

But no. She'd given her word. She'd challenged herself as much as she'd challenged him. Could she win while holding back?

The answer was becoming less certain by the minute.

His latest barrage came at her from three different angles, ice and lightning and something else she couldn't quite identify, something that was actively absorbing her physical attacks and "sucking out" the force behind her every move, making her sluggish as hell. Everything was coordinated with a precision that spoke of extensive training.

She deflected what she could, absorbed what she couldn't deflect, and felt that same jolt of pain as his attacks found their targets.

Still not enough to seriously hurt her. But enough to remind her that he was keeping pace. That this fight was far from over.

So... fascinating.

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